


Ghosts In All Realms

by ararelitus



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Ghost Francis, Ghosts, Grief, History Compliant, M/M, Not A Fix-It, but be Aware of these tags, ghost fic, most people are ghosts!, not tagging MCD as no deaths are really depicted, rated T for The Ghost Angst, set c. 1854-59, there are ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26201572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ararelitus/pseuds/ararelitus
Summary: Francis walked on, trying to remember the places where he had been. Francis walked to the coast and out onto the ice. Back to his ships, back home. Except his ships were gone, and so was home, and so was he.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Sir James Clark Ross
Comments: 20
Kudos: 21
Collections: @terror_exe Flash Fest





	Ghosts In All Realms

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this prompt: [link](https://twitter.com/terror_exe/status/1294109481022914562)
> 
>   
> Massive thanks to tulliolaciceronis for beta-ing <3

Francis didn’t know this place, but he had his suspicions. 

Perhaps, he had known this place, or another version of it. Once upon a time. Many years ago. But now the cold air didn’t freeze and bite at his skin. It didn’t feel cold anymore, instead seemed to blow right through him. 

Francis wasn’t sure what he was feeling anymore, or if he could feel. He was hollow, some remnant of what he once was. 

And what was that? He couldn’t remember. 

He walked on across the plain. That was the only thing that felt right - that felt familiar. 

Francis walked until he found a boat, overturned. Two men sat huddled on the other side of it. 

No, Francis was wrong. They were not men anymore. He only wished he could remember their names, or recognize anything about them. One had been an officer, probably. At least Francis thought he was an officer. The name was gone, so was the rank, along with everything else. 

He turned and saw the men again. Whole, this time. They stared at their own bodies. 

“Can you hear me?” Francis called. 

“Aye, Captain,” one replied. He didn’t change his gaze. 

Captain Francis Crozier. That was him, that was his name once. 

“Is this what we are?” said the other man, in the same trance. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Francis said. 

They ignored him. They were still coming to grips with their fate. There was nothing Francis could do for them. There was never anything he could do for any of them. 

Francis walked on. 

In the distance he saw a small party of men with a sledge pulled by dogs. Not his men. 

He thought he recognized one, a tall, well-built man who seemed to be in charge. It didn’t matter now. How many years had it been? Francis didn’t know. All he knew was walking, alive or dead.

Francis walked to the coast and out onto the ice. Back to his ships, back home. Except his ships were gone, and so was home, and so was he. 

One lonely mast stuck out from the ice. A ghost, just like him. Unnoticed, just like him. 

“Francis,” a familiar voice whispered behind him. 

Francis turned around until he stood face to face with Thomas Blanky. 

“Walk with me,” he said. 

“Always, Thomas,” Francis replied, walking in time with his old friend. Like this was another time, when they were both alive. 

“Do you remember the end?” Thomas asked. 

Francis didn’t. There wasn’t much he knew. A great white nothing. “I’m not sure if there was ever an end, or it just went on...”

“We all have our own journeys now.”

“I’ve gathered that.”

“I hope we’ll meet again. Different place, nicer.” He turned back to smile, and then walked on ahead. 

“Wait-” Francis called after him. He was gone. 

Francis walked on, trying to remember the places where he had been. He was on land again. An island. Or was it an island? Somehow, Francis knew it was an island. 

Before him, the cairn rose up over his head. James’ cairn. 

How did he know that? Something was missing. 

The stones before him began to crumble. Everything had it’s time, after all. 

Two men stood on the other side of him, taking it apart, stone by stone. They pulled something out of the center. A canister with a paper inside. 

Francis remembered signing the document, laying out his plans in ink. Sealing his own fate. He had little hope then. However many years had passed, it was too late for his men. 

The two men huddled over the paper, trying to read the aged script. Francis already knew what was written there. He turned around. 

Francis walked on, although he didn’t know where he was walking. What more was there for him here? He knew anything that mattered was a whole world away. 

He returned to the shore and gazed at the ice. The mast was gone. Any signs he was ever here were fading. Perhaps he shouldn’t be here either. 

Francis closed his eyes and thought of somewhere else, anywhere else that could fill this silence. 

Birds chirped all around him and he opened his eyes. Before him a house, a place he’d never been. A name popped into his head: Rose Hill. 

Francis walked up to the door and walked right through it. 

“Francis,” a familiar voice said, “I had hoped you’d stop by.”

Francis walked past the rooms, past the furniture all wrapped up. This was an empty house, no one lived here now. Just ghosts. 

He walked right through to the kitchen at the very back. There at the table, sat a man he knew. Or once knew. 

“I have been waiting,” he said.

Francis sat down at the chair. On the table was a set of empty teacups. They had no use for them now, they couldn’t drink tea. But wasn’t this exactly the kind of hospitality he would have expected from his former co-captain. 

“Please say something, Francis,” James Fitzjames spoke again. 

“How long?” Francis asked. 

“Almost a decade.”

Francis would have thought it had been longer. 

“Why are you here?” 

“Unfinished business. We all have it, with the expedition… It’s very much out of our hands now. Another cruel twist of fate.” Fitzjames reached for the teacup, but his hand swiped through it. 

“That much I figured,” Francis said. “But why are you here?”

“Oh. Did I ever tell you I had a niece?”

“I… can’t remember.”

“Well, I have a nephew too, and there’s my brother will, and his wife… but they’re... still alive.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s life, isn’t it? So, we keep each other company.”

There were others Francis needed to see now. Even if he couldn’t reach them, he needed to know how they were getting on. 

“I think I need to go,” Francis said. He was on his feet before he remembered to stand. 

“Of course, Francis. I understand.” 

“Take care, James. I hope… I... ” What could he say? 

“I do the best I can, Francis.”

Francis walked out of the house. 

He stood in Greenwich park. Finally, a place he knew. A place he remembered so vividly. Now that he was no longer alive, the hills didn’t seem to pose any difficulty. 

The observatory still stood, just as he remembered. Couples strolled on through, going about their lives like nothing mattered. 

They still could. 

James wouldn’t be here, Francis remembered. 

Still, he walked back to the house. The house he’d once hated to call a home - yet, he’d been with James. 

Francis walked up the steps and through the door. 

A man sat in an armchair reading. A strange man Francis didn’t know. 

This was not right. This wasn’t where Francis was meant to be. 

Francis never had the chance to see the house in Aston Abbotts when he was alive. Now he didn’t know what to expect. It didn’t really matter now, did it? He’d never live here. 

He walked across the long roadway, past the blooming trees and in through the large door. 

Somehow, the place felt empty, unlike a home. He roamed through the halls, searching for life. 

He turned into the doorway of what he thought was the study. 

There they were. James, hunched over his desk, writing something, and Anne standing at his side. James looked older than he ought to, tired. The study was a mess as always. He had a life here, after everything, and that’s what mattered. 

For the first time in forever, Francis could almost feel breath in his lungs again. 

Anne looked up and stared right at him. “Frank?” she asked. 

“Anne.” She was not supposed to be able to see him. No, this wasn’t right. 

“No. No no no. Anne… you’re-”

She walked up to him and took his hand. 

“Frank listen to me,” she said. 

Frank could feel her hand. Cold, but solid. He shouldn’t feel her hand. 

“No, this isn’t right, you’re-”

“Dead, Frank,” she said, plainly, “yes.”

Francis looked past her and at James. He sat there, unaffected. 

“Anne, no-”

James was alone here. Francis scanned the room and took notice of all the things he’d missed. The full glass of scotch beside him. All the crumpled paper on the floor. His hair in disarray. 

Anne shook her head. “I never wanted to leave him. But then I got sick...”

This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to happen.

“I’m sorry,” Francis whispered. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for. We couldn’t have known.” She wiped away a tear. 

“I know, I know.” Francis nodded, trying to reassure himself. 

They both turned back to James. 

“What happens now?” he asked.

“We watch. It’s all we can do.”

**Author's Note:**

> \- Yes, the group of men Francis sees is a reference to Dr. Rae's part c. 1854  
> \- James Fitzjames was the godfather to the children of his step-brother Will and his wife Elizabeth. They had a daughter (Fitzjames' niece), also named Elizabeth, who died in 1858 at the age of 17.  
> \- McClintock's 1857-9 search party were the ones to find the Victory Point cairn in '59


End file.
